


Green-eyed monster

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/M, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Mild Blood, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Ronald has low self-esteem, Ronnie thinks his feelings are unrequited, Threesome - F/M/M, but he's just mired in self-hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: After Grelle and Othello get together, Ronald nurses his jealous, unrequited passion in silence. Will the green-eyed monster eat him alive, or will the lady and the geek help Ronald see his true worth?
Relationships: Othello/Grell Sutcliff, Ronald Knox/Grell Sutcliff, Ronald Knox/Othello, Ronald Knox/Othello/Grell Sutcliff
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincexRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexRaven/gifts).



> The title is taken from Act 3 Scene iii of Shakespeare's Othello:
> 
> "Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy!  
> It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock  
> The meat it feeds on."
> 
> Although the reapers are obviously British, I decided to stick with Grelle's designation as Ronald's "senpai" since there isn't an exact English equivalent for this term.
> 
> This was written for a prompt submitted by one of my Tumblr friends. I hope you enjoy it, dear! <3

Jealousy had nipped at Ronald before, marring his pride with violet bruises when some girl he fancied spurned him for another. It had been an infrequent occurrence, of course. Few ladies could resist his charms (except for _the_ Lady who danced beyond his presumptuous reach). However, watching that damn Othello slink around with Grelle was a different beast. Yes, a _beast_. This jealousy tore his heart to ribbons with its claws and eviscerated him with adamantine cruelty, crunching his bones between its carious teeth and sucking out the marrow while it jeered at him.

 _“See what a pathetic little boy you are? Go ahead, fuck as many of those twopenny secretaries as you like. You’ll still be worthless. You can’t have_ her _. She’ll never want_ you _. Next to Grelle Sutcliff, you are less than nothing._

Unlike other reapers who shuffled through their humdrum eternity, Grelle deserved the title “goddess.” She was made to be worshiped. Her hair like reams of red silk, a crimson aureole that the sun set ablaze in a thousand tongues of flame. (He didn’t dare touch it. It would have scorched his fingers black). The perfectly-proportioned hands flaunting nails like bloodstained claws (How often had he imagined them slashing into his skin and marking him as **hers**?). The shapely legs and thighs that could just as easily crush an enemy’s skull as they could dance the waltz (But not with him. Never with him). Her elegant mouth that cursed and sang with such brazen disinhibition (And the teeth, the teeth! His senpai was a tigress!). Those electric eyes that held you spellbound in a cobra’s gaze, completely at her mercy. If she’d cut his throat like those harlots she and the Madame had butchered, he would have blessed her, grateful that his last sight before his second death would be her eyes burning with marsh fire.

She was a Presence more potent than perfume, filling any room she deigned to enter, clinging to his hair and stinging his eyes, palpable enough to taste on his tongue (Only an inkling of a taste. He was never invited to the banquet).

Her grace beguiled him, hips shaking to and fro like a tambourine, each step part of a perpetual dance. Flawless, flawless! Not a single misstep, and in heels that towered higher than Big Ben! By what witchcraft did she do it?

Yes, she _towered_ …not just due to the heels. How could a soul like the vast, exuberant sunset be contained in that body? She inclined the column of her neck to smile down at him like an Olympian’s marble statue gazing at the supplicant who knelt before it (Were her eyes, too, carved from stone? They never _saw_ him). Ronald wanted to bow and adore, kiss the imprints her impossible heels left in the dirt.

Of course she’d chosen Othello. Of _course_ his senpai, the brilliant mechanic whose customized death scythe struck like a thunderbolt, would be drawn to that mind, an intricate machine with a thousand pieces that whirred and spun. The cogs and gears of the geek’s intellect turned relentlessly, churning out ideas that existed between the revolutionary and the heretical. His perpetually unkempt, flyaway hair with its dark emerald sheen bore testament to the incessant storm of activity crackling within his cranium like lightning. Was the glint in his eye genius or insanity? Regardless, it mirrored the fire that flickered in Grelle’s, beckoning Ronald closer like a drab, hapless moth who would gladly accept annihilation as the price for merging with that flame. Ronald coveted it, and hated because he coveted, just as he coveted the scientist’s wry smile and easy, natural laugh. Ronald was gaudy pyrite, with flashy watches and impractical white shoes to conceal his inherent worthlessness, but Othello was gold, the shining blood that flowed in Gaia’s veins. _His_ confidence was quiet because it had no need to be loud. His mind was sharper than any death scythe; little wonder that he kept his training model without shame. He wore his labcoat with the same breezy self-assurance as a rich man sporting a three-piece suit. Hell, he had a right to it. After all, he and Grelle were the heroes who brought down the fucking _Undertaker_ , of all people, the fallen god who’d torn the dispatch to pieces before his desertion.

He couldn’t choose. How _could_ he choose between the fever and the ague? He was sick with the desire for both of them and the knowledge that he could have neither. They were twin luminaries, splendent in their glory; Ronald Knox was a fleeting comet fizzling out amidst the cold blackness of space. Alone, adrift, unwanted.

Every time he saw them together, the monster guzzled more of his blood. It smacked its lips as he writhed in agony.

 _“Look at how she holds him,”_ it gibed when Grelle caught Othello in a crushing hug, spinning him around in delight. Their laughter plunged into his chest like a dagger. Ronald’s fingers dug into his arms as he clutched them in a sham embrace.

“ _He’ll never look at_ you _like that_ ,” it taunted while Othello watched Grelle dance at an office party. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave the scientist an impish grin. His eyes shone with the excitement of a man who’s made the discovery of a lifetime, lips parting to cry “Eureka!” Ronald was mere junk data. A useless scrap of code. A scribbled-out hypothesis that wasn’t worth pursuing. The monster’s teeth scraped at his ribs, splintering them into fragments.

In vain, Ronald hoped that the beast would tire of these wretched games and crawl away in search of fresh meat. The more time passed, however, the more ravenous it grew. Would it devour him whole?

* * *

Thursday night at his favorite bar. Ronald had swung by to drink away the stress of the workday and his secret misery (maybe pick up a girl while he was at it. Those petty conquests didn’t silence the monster’s guttural voice, but they made it easier to ignore). The air was thick with cigarette smoke and meaningless conversation, the patrons’ voices steadily rising in volume. Ronald didn’t mind. He’d already had enough to start up a pleasant buzz in the back of his skull, a shiny, pharmacological cheerfulness plastered over the ugly green tint of his soul. He was about to take a swig of his scotch when he saw them.

Grelle was bewitching in a sequined red dress that barely pretended to reach the tops of her thighs (those glorious legs went on for _miles_!), and her hair was thrown up in a messily perfect bun. Othello sported his usual lab attire, along with that insouciant grin that made the monster sink its teeth into Ronald’s heart. They were chatting happily, a fact the young reaper observed with considerable bitterness. _They don’t even know you’re alive right now_ , the monster crooned into his ear. Ronald threw back the rest of his drink in one gulp. (It didn’t matter that the alcohol ravaged his throat. No one would care).

Grelle covered her mouth to giggle over some remark of Othello’s that Ronald didn’t catch. Then, her eyes began to flit about the bar. What was her quarry?

“Ronnie, darling! How are you?” she called out, waving enthusiastically when she spotted him.

“Er…h-hey, _senpai_ ,” he stammered. Ronald did his best to strike a debonair pose, but the booze was making him clumsy and off-balance. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.” That morning, Grelle had been chattering to anyone who would listen about a date she’d planned with Othello. That was one of the reasons Ronald had gone to the bar in the first place—having to smile and feign enthusiasm for hours had left him dejected and in the lowest of spirits.

“Oh, we just thought we’d drop in and grab a drink or two,” she purred. Her silver skull earrings gleamed, even beneath the bar’s murky lights.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and concern crept into her eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right, love? You look a bit peaky.”

The absence of her touch ate away at him, but this contact was torture to rival the Inquisition. A chaste, collegial hand reminding him that they were work buddies, _senpai_ and _kouhai_. Nothing more.

“Yeah…yeah! Just too much bloody overtime lately. I’m staring to feel like Mr. Spears.” He fended off her worry as if swatting away a wasp—it would sting him if he took it to heart.

“Gods forbid! They really have been working us to _death_ this week, haven’t they? Damn humans keep dropping like flies. All those boring little cinematic records to sift through,” she sighed. Then silence sat heavily between them, and her gaze appraised him a few seconds longer.

“Hey!” Othello piped up as he ambled over. _Shit_! He had to deal with both of them at once? _While they were standing side by side_? Ronald wished he was already too deep in his cups, that sweet oblivion beyond thinking and feeling. The monster’s hot, damp breath tickled the back of his neck.

Ronald might not be good for much, but he at least knew how to make small talk, covering up his loneliness with false wit and shallow charm. Maybe if he glittered brightly enough, they’d ignore the fact that there was nothing to him underneath. The monster’s talons scored across his back. _Why do you even bother pretending?_ , it growled. He noticed Othello and Grelle exchange quick little glances every now and then before turning their attention back to him. They were probably plotting a quick escape from his babbling. Was he _that_ juvenile and uninteresting?

He was in the middle of sharing a salacious piece of office gossip provided by one of the secretaries when Grelle’s hand shot out and wrapped itself around his tie. She pulled, bringing his face so close to hers that his heart nearly pounded out of his chest.

“Juuuust as I thought,” she murmured. “He’s in dire straits, ‘thello. What shall we do with him?”

“What— _senpai_ —I—what the—?” Ronald sputtered. To his consternation, being held in Grelle’s imperious grip made his trousers suddenly tighter.

Othello crossed his arms and gave a sly smile, leaning back against the bar. “He’s an interesting specimen…I think we should take him back to the apartment for closer observation.”

Grelle’s blood-red lips curved upwards in satisfaction. “My thoughts exactly, darling. Our hearts are truly united as one.”

Ronald was growing more confused by the second. His mind latched onto the words “apartment” and “observation.” _Don’t be a fool_ , the monster sneered. _They don’t—_

“Would you come back to our place, Ronnie?”

Grelle’s voice cut off its taunts with the swiftness and ease of her scythe slicing into the chests of the dying.

She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant. She probably just wanted to socialize, help Othello get to know her _friend_ better.

“If we don’t snatch you up _now_ , someone else might come along and try to claim you. We figured we should call dibs while we can,” Othello drawled. He leaned over to give Ronald a quick kiss on the cheek. “A handsome man like you? We want you to ourselves.”

 _We want you_.

 ** _We want you_**.

“Now you’ve gone and flustered him. Look at how red he’s getting,” Grelle tutted. She gave Ronald’s tie another tug. “Though you are _exceptionally_ adorable when you blush, Ronnie. I could eat you right up.”

“You should save that for the apartment. We’ll cause a ruckus if we stay here,” Othello smirked.

At this point, Ronald was convinced he’d gone stark-raving mad. They couldn’t _actually_ want to—

“So what do you say, poppet? The night is young, and our bed is big enough for three.”

Ronald gaped like a fish out of water.

“I think you broke him, Grelle. Maybe you should put him down for a second,” Othello suggested.

Even after Grelle relinquished her grip, words deserted him. Othello. And Grelle. And a bed with room for three people. He knew these pieces were connected, but the meaning eluded him.

Grelle’s eyebrows drew themselves up in uncertainty. “Of course…you don’t have to if you don’t want to, darling. We can be on our way and pretend this conversation didn’t happen, if you’d like…”

He had to say something. Anything.

“Wh...why me?” he croaked out at last.

The two older reapers looked dumbfounded.

“Why the hell _not_?” Grelle asked, putting an indignant hand on her hip.

Othello ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “Let’s see…you’re charming, agreeable, and funny. Not to mention too damn pretty by half. And Grelle loves you. Talks about you all the time…I mean, you’re one of the only people in the dispatch who treats her like a lady. Anyone who makes Grelle that happy is pretty fantastic, in my book.”

“Or are you implying that I don’t have good tastes?” Grelle scowled threateningly.

“N-no, _senpai_ , not at all!” Ronald stammered. They… _didn’t_ see him as an inconsequential loser? Grelle loved him? HIM? Ronald Knox?!

Othello slipped an arm around his waist, and Ronald felt his face heat up again.

“Come on,” the geek coaxed, eyes twinkling. “How about it?”

Grelle moved to his other side, mirroring Othello’s gesture.

“Ronnie…?”

Ronald’s legs trembled, but, for the first time in months, the monster’s shadow was gone.

“Y-yeah. Yeah!” Even if this was just a wishful fantasy, he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

Grelle smiled down at Ronald, and her chartreuse eyes _saw_. “Good boy.”

“Let’s go, then!” Othello laughed, and they quickly ushered him out of the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grelle and Othello whisk Ronald away to their apartment, where he learns just how desirable the pair finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason I upped the rating. Needless to say, there are copious amounts of adult content here, so this is only intended for readers 18 and above.

The chill night air nipped at him, but its toothless attacks couldn’t leave so much as a scratch on the wild happiness that enveloped Ronald. His mind swirled like a leaf caught in the eddies and flow of a rushing stream. Othello…and Grelle…they were going to…

Fantasies of silken sheets and roving hands danced behind his eyelids, rendering him blind to their surroundings. The apartment’s red door brought Ronald back to himself with a jolt, akin to the sensation of falling that shocks one out of sleep.

Grelle’s hand clamped around his wrist like a vice, and she dragged him down the hallway with such reckless impatience that he tripped on the carpet. She hauled him back to his feet, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him against the wall with an effortless strength that left Ronald breathless. He was pinned there like a butterfly mounted on display. The naked admiration in Grelle’s eyes made him feel…well, close to beautiful. _Coveted_.

In the private, secluded darkness of his bedroom, Ronald had often imagined receiving a kiss from Grelle Sutcliff, but his reveries couldn’t begin to compare. He’d grossly underestimated the passion she’d put behind it.

Their first kiss was not decorous. Her formidable teeth pricked his lips, and she stole his air and his senses with merciless abandon.

Othello snickered. “Damn, you couldn’t wait ‘til we’d gotten him undressed?”

Grelle only lifted her head long enough to pant back, “Ladies have rapacious appetites, darling, and I’ve been hankering after Ronnie for sooo long.”

Ronald’s legs weakened as Grelle shoved him harder against the wall, her tongue ravishing his mouth like he was a banquet she’d fallen upon after starving for weeks. His chest heaved against hers as he desperately tried to press closer. To merge with that magnificent body, to be _one_ with it!

“What a greedy thing you are, poppet,” she laughed into the kiss. The sound sent warmth flooding his groin, and a faint whimper escaped from his bruised lips.

“Ladies first, but try to save some for me,” he heard Othello chuckle.

Grelle dipped her head down to rake her tongue up Ronald’s neck.

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t make promises.”

Ronald jerked when her teeth nipped at him. The wet heat trickling down had to be blood. Her tongue flicked out again to lap up the crimson liquid, and a shiver ran through him.

“Oh, Ronnie…we’re going to drink every last drop of you, and you are going to _love_ it.”

A hand snaked behind him to squeeze his arse, and then Grelle unceremoniously slung him over her shoulder. He was aware of the muscle power required to wield a scythe like hers, but _fuck_! She carried Ronald like he weighed nothing at all. The thought of what else she could do to him made him giddy with anticipation. Othello watched the proceedings with the same awe that a high priest might feel witnessing the miracles wrought by his goddess.

“She’s an Amazon. Wait until ya _really_ see her in action!” he informed Ronald gleefully, though the younger reaper was too flustered to reply.

“Come along, ‘thello,” Grelle sang out as she strode through the apartment. “Off to bed we go!”

* * *

Upon reaching the bedroom, Grelle flung Ronald down on the mattress with an impetuousness that drove the breath from his lungs. She pounced on him, swiftly undoing his tie and the first several buttons on his shirt. Grelle frantically planted kisses on every inch of exposed skin she could reach. Ronald didn’t need a mirror to know that lipstick was being smeared across his face, marking him as the red reaper’s property.

“ _S-senpai_ …”

A rough kiss shut him up. “ _Non, chéri_. In bed, I’m Grelle…and any other terms of adoration fit for a lady of my standing.”

Ronald moaned her name as she finished opening his shirt and trailed an elegant finger from his chest to his navel. Her nail scored an angry line in its wake.

“Hurry up, nerd! I want to see his face when he gets his first look at you in lingerie,” she admonished Othello.

Lingerie?! Yes, this would be the night that Ronald died (again).

He craned his neck, angling for a better view of the man who’d been disrobing across the room from them.

The first thought that flew through Ronald’s dazed mind was, _He’s so damn_ pretty.

Othello’s upper body was adorned with a lacy pink bralette whose vertical slits proudly put his nipples on display. The only other pieces to his ensemble were ruffled panties (the same shade of pink) with a cutout showcasing his pert little arse, thigh-length black fishnet stockings, and a black pair of high heels.

Othello saucily put a hand on his hip and flashed them a winsome smile. He was dainty as a wildflower, more so than some of the office birds Ronald had shagged.

“ _Gods_ …” Ronald breathed, and Grelle tittered.

“You’re hard as a rock, darling,” she purred, lazily rocking her hips against his. Ronald groaned helplessly. Desperate need had robbed him of speech.

Grelle abruptly sat up and got to her feet, despite Ronald’s whimper of protest.

“Would you unzip me, ‘thello?”

“Sure thing.” Othello carefully undid her dress (even with his heels, he had to reach a little) and paused to kiss the area between her shoulder blades before helping her step out of it.

Ronald gasped.

The lingerie Grelle had been concealing beneath her outfit was a more complicated affair than Othello’s, an intricate lace bodysuit supplemented with red leather straps. Grelle’s body was a glorious creation. Graceful legs, hips flaring out just so, abdomen muscular and cruelly powerful. Ronald struggled to rise, but Grelle promptly put a hand on his chest and shoved him back into submission.

“Patience is a virtue, love.”

“That’s rich coming from you!” Othello snorted.

Grelle cradled the geek’s chin in her hand and gripped his jaw. “I wanted to _wind him up_ a little first. Let’s get some makeup on you, and then we can play with our darling, hmm?”

She hauled Othello over to her vanity and rummaged about in a drawer, triumphantly brandishing a pencil with which she marked up his eyes. Ronald heart threatened to shatter his ribcage. Stunning, beautiful Grelle was painting Othello’s face, augmenting that natural prettiness with her womanly craft. Ronald’s need shook his psyche to and fro like a rat in a terrier’s mouth. If Grelle made him wait much longer, he’d break.

“ _Alllll_ done!” Grelle sang with a satisfied nod.

Two pairs of luminous eyes bore down on Ronald and held him in place. He felt himself frozen by a witch’s spell, but no sorcery could match the reapers who had enchanted him. Grelle flaunted herself as she strode back towards the bed, swaying her hips and laughing at Ronald’s blush. That blush deepened when his gaze returned to Othello. He hadn’t noticed earlier how _tight_ the other man’s underwear was…clearly, he was better-endowed than his trifling height would suggest.

Grelle fell upon Ronald like a hawk swooping down to snatch its prey. For all her talk of patience, she wasted no time in yanking off his shoes (which were thrown carelessly over her shoulder), then proceeding to divest him of his trousers and briefs. Ronald shivered as the cool air caressed his nether regions, then gave a yelp when Grelle kissed along his cock from tip to base. He twitched beneath the wet velvet of her lips and tongue.

“You’re perfect,” she trilled. “Isn’t he absolutely perfect, ‘thello? He shines like Helios.”

“ _Gorgeous_ ,” her partner concurred. He sat himself next to Ronald’s head, running his fingers through his blond locks in open adoration. That warm, wanted feeling tingled beneath Ronald’s skin.

“Hmm…how best to conquer our beautiful Ronnie?” Grelle mused aloud.

“One at each end?” Othello suggested while his devilish fingers tickled Ronald’s scalp.

She laughed. “Ex-ell-ent.” She gave Ronald’s cock a playful squeeze (making him yelp) and ordered him up and on his knees.

As Ronald turned himself over, Othello reached over to grab a small bottle on the bedstand, which he tossed to Grelle. His back was a stark, pallid white—except for the spot of color that caught the younger reaper’s eye.

Ronald was captivated by the tattoo on Othello’s right shoulder blade. It was a single rose in full bloom, the petals reveling in their decadent beauty. Vicious thorns protruded from the green stem. When Ronald looked closer, he saw they were dripping with blood, a stark warning to the wary. _Touch our precious flower, and we’ll teach you what pain is_ , the thorns whispered menacingly.

Ronald paid them no heed. Grasping beauty came at a price, but he didn’t count the cost. Almost shyly, he reached out to trace the design. Othello’s skin felt delicate, the type that would bruise the second he grew overzealous. The younger reaper could already imagine how sensitive and fragile it would be when it made the acquaintance of his lips…

“Like it?” Othello asked, glancing over his shoulder and coyly batting his lashes. “Grelle took me to the parlor to get it once we started going steady. She wanted me to have a little something to show I was _hers_. It’s my badge of honor.” He glowed with pride.

Grelle draped herself over Ronald’s back, and he felt a deceptively gentle kiss grace his own smooth, unmarked shoulder while her hands splayed over his thighs. Her nails didn’t pierce the skin (yet), but he knew they’d leave deep indents, crescent moons that signified her waxing possessiveness.

“You’ll get one too, if you’re good. I’d _so_ love for my boys to match.”

_Her_ boys. A sign declaring that he belonged to Grelle.

“But back to the matter at hand. I need to get you ready, poppet.”

Ronald propped himself up on his elbows, and Othello took his face between his hands.

“She’ll treat you well, but she doesn’t do things by halves,” the other reaper smiled, his thumb stroking Ronald’s bottom lip.

“’thellooo, you’ll scare him,” Grelle pouted. Ronald heard her uncap the bottle, presumably to coat her fingers with its contents.

“Hey, I’m not saying that’s a _bad_ thing. I just figured he should know what he’s in for.”

“Fair enough.” A finger methodically circled his rim. “You couldn’t walk after I’d first had my way with you, could you?”

Othello chuckled sheepishly. “Oh hell no. You had to carry me the next morning.”

Ronald went harder than ever. Would she go that far tonight?

Then Grelle’s fingers entered him, teasing and relentless, eagerly pushing against his walls to stretch him open. Meanwhile, Othello propped himself against a few of the featherdown pillows and pulled his panties down. Ronald’s eyes widened as he finally registered what the two meant by “one at each end.”

He shook when Grelle aligned with him and let out a startled cry when she sheathed herself to the hilt.

“Ah…so warm and _tight_ ,” she purred.

“Open up, love,” Othello coaxed, cupping Ronald’s chin in one hand while holding his own cock in the other. Grelle started off at a brisk pace, snapping her hips and making Ronald arch his back in ecstasy. He somehow had the presence of mind to unhinge his jaw, taking Othello into his mouth as far as he could go. Though Ronald had relatively little experience in this area, he licked and sucked with abandon while Othello fucked into his mouth. Based on the other man’s moans and his savage grip on Ronald’s hair, he must be satisfactory. He hoped he was. Grelle continued to pummel at him, causing him to spasm as she dazzled him with pleasure. Her hands blindly caressed his back, then downward to his stomach…then closing around his cock.

“Mn!” he wordlessly groaned.

“T-told…you…” Othello grinned, thrusting into him while Grelle started to jerk Ronald off.

He was an instrument on which three different tunes were being played simultaneously, and he wasn’t sure his body could survive it. Hell, white-hot, orgastic joy would rip him apart, _was_ ripping him apart.

“He’s almost…there…I think. Should pull out now,” Grelle gasped. Othello eased back, and Ronald’s lips parted to release his cock. He received no relief, however, as Grelle’s onslaughts built in intensity.

“Come, darling,” the lady commanded. “Let me hear you scream.”

And come he did, with a wail that tore his throat raw. He clenched around Grelle, and his eyes rolled back as she spilled into him, her climax making her hand jerk unsteadily on his cock.

“Good…just like that…you’re _perfect_ , honey.”

Othello watched with an impish grin and stroked himself off the pair’s tempo, which only added to Ronald’s glorious torture. That pretty, fine-boned face was even prettier when twisted in pleasure.

Ronald gradually descended from the heavenly heights to which the pair had borne him, and Grelle languorously pulled herself out, her essence seeping after her. Ronald’s thighs trembled, and he collapsed facefirst.

“Still with us?” Othello asked, a note of laughter in his voice. He gently rubbed Ronald’s back, and Grelle quickly followed suit.

“Maybe,” Ronald mumbled into the bedsheets.

Grelle hoisted him up by the armpits and carefully turned him over to lie propped up on the pillows. She and Othello spent the next few minutes petting him with surprising tenderness given what had just transpired.

“You were worth the wait. Think I see what Grelle meant when she told me you were something special.” Othello took his hand and kissed the underside of his wrist.

“My dearest Ronnie,” Grelle sighed blissfully, smoothing his hair back into place.

Ronald tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Any minute now, he’d wake in his messy apartment, alone and unwanted. But their touch, those tender voices…they _had_ to be real, didn’t they?

Grelle stretched herself out like a lioness after a successful hunt, yawning elegantly behind her hand.

“A lady needs some rest after such _vigorous exercise_.”

Her eyes darted from Ronald to Othello, a queen exulting over the most prized jewels in her treasury.

“Would you two boys care to put on a show for me?”

Othello crawled into Ronald’s lap. His nimble fingers knotted themselves insistently in his hair, and he tilted Ronald’s head back with surprising vigor. The dark, thick kohl accentuating Othello’s eyes elevated him from half-god to true deity, something ethereal and fey and poisonously beautiful. He might have been Anubis, whose capable hands would transform Ronald’s body from paltry flesh and bone into a timeless work of art.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Othello answered. His canny gaze cut into Ronald like a scalpel, and the younger reaper had the impression that the entirety of him was laid bare for Othello’s eager perusal. Ronald was so enthralled that it was almost a shock when Othello’s sly, dainty mouth captured his in a kiss. Sweet with a subtle, deadly quality beneath, like pink spun sugar laced with arsenic.

“Brilliant, ‘thello! He’s smitten,” Grelle cheered from the sidelines.

Ronald’s face flushed, but he couldn’t deny it. He thought he sensed something small, cold, and metallic at the tip of Othello's clever tongue…a piercing? Another accessory added at Grelle’s urging?

Othello pulled back to look at Ronald with hooded eyes.

“Could I get a taste of you, love?”

Ronald’s cock twitched in response. “If you think you can manage it,” he replied cheekily. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty mouth of yours.” Never mind that his own jaw ached.

Othello bit at the spot on his neck Grelle had marked with her teeth, making it bleed anew. “Oh, trust me, I’ll manage.”

He kissed down Ronald’s body with the same care and precision that he gave his experiments, laving at the sensitive flesh until Ronald begged for mercy.

“Damn, you’re good,” he whimpered.

“Why do you think I’ve kept him around? Besides my undying love and affection for my little man, of course,” Grelle remarked. “Splendid, ‘thello! You’ve scattered roses across his ivory chest.”

Othello’s fragile fingers stroked his cock with a gossamer touch that made his blood throb. The man’s hypnotic eyes locked with Ronald’s as he wrapped his lips around him.

His tongue, like his mind, was agile, gifted with nimbleness and perversity. Heat coiled itself in the pit of Ronald’s stomach, and he frantically jerked his pelvis with Othello bobbed his head. How those eyes glittered!

“Faster, faster!” Grelle ordered breathlessly. Ronald tore his gaze away from Othello to see Grelle dipping her hand between her legs while she watched them. Her tongue licked at her lips with unabashed hunger, and her gleaming eyes set every nerve aflame, pushing Ronald that much closer to the edge as Othello lavished his skill on him.

Despite his exhaustion, Ronald still had strength enough for the little death that sent him careening into a euphoria that poured over body and soul like a torrent of golden rain. After he'd ridden it out, Othello clambered over him to peer into his face and softly patted his cheek.

“Tired yet?” the geek teased.

“The hell do you mean? I thought we were just getting started,” Ronald shot back, his impudence belying the truth in Othello’s observation.

The sheets rustled, and Grelle curled up at Ronald’s side.

“That’s the spirit! You always have the _stamina_ to keep up with me during collection.”

Ronald’s fingers shyly brushed against her hair, and its silken fire did not burn him.

“I have a couple more rounds in me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be gentler, with plenty of soft aftercare and morning-after domesticity. Stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out there is more smut in this chapter...but plenty of fluff, too!

Ronald had never worn makeup in either of his lives. If he’d dared to do something so “girly” when he was mortal, his father would have belted him for his temerity til the blood ran down his back in rivulets—and the old man’s drunken mind searched incessantly for trifling excuses to beat his worthless son. That bitter sot couldn’t lay a hand on him now, but his attitudes had been burned indelibly into Ronald even though the old scars barely showed on his reaper’s body. And most blokes at the dispatch just didn’t do that kind of thing; people like Mr. Spears would scowl at you and condemn it as “unprofessional.” Yet Othello showed no signs of embarrassment or discomfort when Grelle dolled up his eyes. He looked prettier than a member of proud Titania’s court. Could the magic from Grelle’s vanity cast a similar glamour on Ronald?

“Uh…could…could I…”

“Yes, Ronnie?” Grelle drew closer, like a lioness waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.

“I, um, might like some makeup or…or something. Just to try…”

“Ah…want to get in touch with your feminine side? Of course, darling! Ask, and you shall receive. No need to be shy now that I’ve been inside you.”

She giggled at Ronald’s blush, then made her way to the vanity, which gave Othello and Ronald ample time to admire her firm, sculpted arse and flaring hips. Grelle’s smirk reflected in the mirror implied that she knew damn well what they were doing, but she didn’t seem to mind. Goddesses thrived on worship.

“Hmm…too bold…that would look _atrocious_ with his hair…wrong shade, wrong shade…hah!”

She scooped up a mysterious pink tube, then paused, rubbing her chin pensively.

“He needs something else though…for balance…”

More searching, then a cheery “Voila!”

She sauntered back bearing her makeup and a black lace choker with a silver heart in the middle.

“Lipstick?” Ronald asked when she uncapped the tube.

Grelle was aghast. “Lip _gloss_ , darling. Really!”

Damn. Ronald was too mortified to open his trap again. How were you supposed to keep the names of those products straight, let alone tell the difference between them?

Othello threw his arms around Ronald’s neck and entangled their legs, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Cut him some slack, Grelly. He’ll learn.”

“It seems I still have _quite_ a bit to teach you, Ronnie,” Grelle said, a wicked gleam in her eye.

The lipgloss was strawberry, sweeter than stolen candy.

“Such a lovely mouth. I’ll ruin it,” Grelle whispered reverently. Heat rippled through Ronald, which augmented when Othello’s hand slipped down to stroke his inner thigh. Meanwhile, the scarlet lady fastened the choker around his neck. It fit snugly. Not enough to live up to its name, but it pinched, reminding him whose manicured hand held the reins.

Grelle slid two fingers beneath it and smiled at the strangled noise that emerged from Ronald’s throat.

“Who is your mistress?”

“You are,” he wheezed.

“Good, my poppet. Very good.”

Releasing her hold on him, she sprawled backward with the graceful deliberation with which an actress falls onstage. She arched her back, and her legs spread in an irresistible invitation.

“Then take me.” It was a command, imperious and absolute. Blazing green eyes flicked over to Othello, who still clung possessively to Ronald. “’thello, love, can I count on you to give him plenty of affection while he’s at it?”

“Will do.” He licked Ronald’s ear, sending a delicious shiver across his skin.

This was presumptuous. Blasphemy. He had no right to claim Grelle Sutcliff. Ronald possessed neither the courage nor the strength to ride a dragon.

“ _Vite, vite!_ ” That alabaster body writhed like a white silk scarf, undulating in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. “It’s _abominably_ rude to keep a lady waiting. I’ll have to punish you if you drag your feet.”

The thought of what punishment from Grelle might entail titillated as much as it terrified him, but Grelle’s voice contained a single directive: **OBEY**. Ronald could only comply, like the ocean’s tides swept to and fro by the moon’s seductive pull.

Othello released him, and Ronald tentatively crept forward. Her navel piercing caught his eye, its crimson glint mocking his cowardice. But it also reminded him of a little trick he’d used on a few of his secretarial “birds.” He bent down and used his tongue to trace a circle on the soft skin surrounding her navel.

Grelle moaned, stirring beneath him.

“More.”

She spurred him onward, and he repeated the motion, each time making the circle smaller, tighter. Her moans increased in volume when he prodded and lapped at the piercing itself.

“Mnn…yes, darling, _hurt_ me…”

It was then that Othello made his move. Cunning fingers crooked inside him, prompting a gasp from the startled Ronald. Without thinking, he bit around the metal bar and pulled upward.

“ _F-fuck_!”

Grelle’s legs thrashed. Shit, he’d gone too far…

“Why were you hiding from me all this time? I love a man with _bite_.”

“It’s one of her sweet spots,” Othello panted while his fingers teased and probed.

“You shouldn’t reveal a woman’s secrets, naughty boy.”

“You sure aren’t shy about letting me know what you like. Seems you’re the same with Ron,” he snickered.

Her cock pressed against Ronald, hard and leaking…for him.

He was almost tempted to stretch out the foreplay, but the low growl from the bottom of Grelle’s throat betrayed her impatience. Should probably get a move on. He carefully lined himself against her entrance.

“Now’s not the time to be a gentleman. Fuck me like you mean it, Ronald Knox.”

He would have killed for her when she spoke in that velveteen voice. Even when she begged, her will wrapped around Ronald like a red silk cord that cut and flayed him while it pulled his limbs however she pleased.

Her warmth seared him, and Ronald cried out more loudly than his _senpai_ when her hips lifted from the mattress. Then Othello made his move, and Ronald’s teeth sank into his bottom lip when the older man buried his cock in him.

It was an ecstasy so intermingled with agony that the boundaries blurred. It was too much, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Not a bad start…but you can do better than that! _Je faime. Feed me_.”

Ronald pressed against her lean, exuberant body and quivered when he felt her muscles tighten. His hands slipped beneath Grelle to stroke her silken back. As he thrust, Othello responded in kind, and the savage burn brought forth a yell from Ronald. And Grelle’s hands tugging his hair, that enthralling voice praising him, demanding more…Ronald was swept up in the frenzy. Heat surrounded him on all sides, a wall of fire that prepared to engulf him. He clawed down Grelle’s back and slammed his mouth against hers. To cut loose and draw blood…that was what he wanted now. Grelle had infected him with her madness. He didn’t mind in the slightest when his _senpai_ ’s teeth mauled him; each mark made him that much more _hers_ , just as each scratch of his nails bore testament to the miraculous night that Grelle let him into her bed.

Othello filled him delightfully and unbearably, and Ronald bit into Grelle’s shoulder as the man’s seed spilled into him. Grelle followed shortly thereafter, screaming Ronald’s name like a prophet proclaiming divine revelations.

The three collapsed against one another in a panting heap. Then, Grelle’s gaze drifted speculatively to Othello.

“We’ve been neglecting you, my little man. Wouldn’t you like to be the center of attention?”

“Uh…w-well…”

“You know you do, darling thing. My pretty love _adores_ it when I lavish affection on him. Won’t you let Ronnie and me dote on you a bit?” She kissed him on the forehead, and Ronald thought Othello would swoon.

“Sure!” he squeaked, flushing red up to the tips of his ears. Yet again, Ronald was ravaged by want. Grelle effortlessly pushed Othello down on his belly, and her hands encircled his waist.

“Look how slender he is! Like a delicate flower.”

Ronald’s heart pounded with renewed vigor, and he tangled his fingers in that untamed thatch of green hair. “He is,” he whispered huskily.

Othello’s eyes squeezed shut in contentment. “You’re killing meeee.”

“Not yet, ‘thello. You’ll die by my _scythe_ in a minute.” Grelle smiled brightly at Ronald.

“Would you give him a second course, Ronnie?”

Ronald grinned evilly once he caught her meaning.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Taking that fine-boned face in both hands, Ronald got on his knees before Othello. Meanwhile, Grelle draped herself over her lover like the sky reaching down to embrace the earth, and her hair tumbled around Othello in a crimson veil.

“My precious one, _mon fleur_.” 

Ronald was soon wholly preoccupied with the mouth that sucked his cock with greater fervor than some monks gave to their prayers. The piercing only added to his delectation, the smooth metal gliding over his sensitive flesh. Piercings…there was an inherent eroticism to them. Painfully beautiful, hurting you while they adorned you. His mind briefly drifted to the thought of getting one himself. What would it be like to have metal bar in his navel that Grelle could ravage with her teeth? Then Othello’s devious mouth jolted him firmly back to the present. Tears of pleasure welled up in Ronald’s eyes.

“You’re so damn, damn good,” he half-sobbed. He frantically caressed Othello’s hair in a desperate attempt to convey his gratitude…

“Dearest boy, my sweetling…” Grelle murmured while kissing Othello’s back and shoulder-blades. Her tender words belied the ferocity with which she rammed herself into him.

“Sh-shouldn’t…we be more gentle?” Ronald gasped.

Othello mutely shook his head, and his tongue made Ronald see stars.

“He bends, but he doesn’t break, poppet,” Grelle elaborated. She flashed him a feral smile. “I would know.” Then, she grabbed the base of Othello’s cock. “You fit my hand perfectly, like the handle of my scythe. The fates forged you for me, darling,” she crooned.

Ronald realized that he was on the brink, but Othello bit down when he tried to pull away. His body went taut, and he clenched the blankets while Othello swallowed around him. Only then did he release Ronald, who toppled backward, still shaking. Grelle drove Othello harder than ever, and the whites of his eyes flashed as his own orgasm hit. The sound of his wails mixed with Grelle’s shrieks of triumph was music to Ronald’s ears. Emerald green and flaming red, complementary parts that formed an inimitably glorious whole. The trio lay in silence for the next few moments. Even Grelle was left trembling in the aftershock.

Ronald shifted positions only to swear under his breath as his body screamed in protest. This must be what it meant to be _ravished_ : The fierce ache left behind after giving everything you had, the burns that scarred you after passion’s flames had licked across your skin.

“Not to fret, dearest Ronnie,” Grelle purred. She ruffled his hair affectionately. “ _Tru_ e ladies take care of their lovers. Did you really thing I’d toss you aside like a filthy dishrag when I was done with you?”

Before Ronald could answer, she swung her lissome legs over the side of the bed, sprang up, and sashayed out of the room. His eyes lingered on the wild pattern of welts and bruises now scored across her back. He’d made some of those. Him. Grelle had let Ronald fucking _Knox_ put his unworthy mark on her. He shook his head in disbelief, an incredulous grin spreading across his face.

Othello curled against him like a contented little cat and blinked up at him coyly. “You have a beautiful smile, you know. Dazzling,” the green-haired reaper said. Dainty fingers gripped the back of his neck as Othello reached up for a kiss. Ronald closed his eyes, the better to savor that wicked, dainty mouth. A kiss from Grelle or Othello was a benediction from Eros himself. No wonder his forsaken partners had left him more desolate and empty than when he’d taken them (or let himself be taken). He’d frittered away his time on shadow plays, but now he was drowning in light and color.

This sweetness, overlaid with a metallic note from the piercing—he still wasn’t sated. Despite his fatigue, he longed to devour Othello whole.

They jerked apart when the bedroom door swung open with a bang.

“I’m ba-aaack!” Grelle sang, stretching out the word to two syllables. His _senpai_ had always been one for grand entrances. “Did you behave yourselves while I was gone?”

“Hell no,” Ronald laughed before giving Othello one last kiss.

“ _Splendide_. Well-mannered boys are dreadfully dull, I find.”

Fluffy red towels (of course they’d be red) were draped over one arm, and she brandished a small jar in her right hand.

“Time to patch you up now that we’ve had our fun. Ronnie first.” Ronald tried to sit up more comfortably and hissed, muscles begging for mercy with renewed fervor.

Othello gave his head a sympathetic pat. “You shouldn’t move too much yet, hun,” he admonished.

After Grelle sat on the bed and tossed the jar to Othello, the pair went to work. Grelle had a sorceress’s hands; they wrought devilish and fantastical deeds. In the field, Ronald had witnessed her adorn them with poppy-red blood, like a macabre set of gloves. But those hands now cleaned him with astounding tenderness. Meanwhile, Othello methodically rubbed salve into Ronald’s bruised and battered skin, only applying as much pressure as was necessary and pausing at intervals to make sure he wasn’t hurting him.

“You were brilliant, my darling,” Grelle smiled.

“Incredible,” Othello added. He kissed the back of Ronald’s neck, and a thrill swift as a comet’s fiery flight coursed down his spine.

He wasn’t used to being taken of, either in his pathetic excuse for a human life or in his tedious existence as a god of death. These two treated him like a priceless treasure unearthed after a long, perilous journey. The kind glimmer in Grelle’s eyes and the soothing touch of Othello’s hands gave Ronald courage to hope that, against all evidence to the contrary, he was more than a callow mediocrity.

Othello raised his forefinger like an absentminded professor recalling the key point of his lecture. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot the most important thing.”

Grelle fixed her geek in a thunderous scowl that would have struck terror in the heart of a lesser man. “ _No_.”

“But Grelle, ya don’t even—”

“I know damn well what you’re about to say, ‘thello. I don’t care how spectacularly you fucked me; I wouldn’t eat those things for a kingdom!”

Ronald’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Othello’s eyes glittered with hobgoblin mirth. He pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand and rummaged around, pulling out a square tin box.

“Ron, could I interest _you_ in some post-coital licorice?”

“’thello, if you keep this up, he’s _never_ going to come back,” Grelle squawked, smacking Othello’s hand away as if he was offering Ronald deadly poison.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with licorice. It’s the best candy around!”

“Normal people don’t eat that shite, darling. Ronnie isn’t a nerd like you.”

“Nah…it’s okay, _sen_ —uh, Grelle.” Ronald interjected, hastily correcting his mistake. “I’ll have one.” It had been ages since he’d last tried licorice, and he remembered it being pretty damn nasty…but maybe his tastes had changed. He didn’t have the heart to refuse when Othello looked this bright and hopeful.

Grelle stared at him flabbergasted, and profound disappointment clouded her face.

“Have you gone completely barmy? You’re making a mistake, _mon amour_!”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just one,” Ronald chuckled. Licorice couldn’t be _that_ bad. If he’d survived a shipful of bizarre dolls, this should be a cinch.

Othello picked up a pitch-black candy with the precision of a surgeon wielding his forceps.

“Open wide,” he commanded, dangling it between forefinger and thumb. Ronald was only too happy to oblige. Then, the taste hit his tongue.

Oh, fuck, it _was_ that bad.

Ronald nearly gagged, grimacing and wrinkling his nose at the obnoxious flavor. He briefly contemplated spitting it out, but he’d committed to this, and Ronald didn’t want to act like a bastard when Othello had given him his own candy.

“I tried to warn you,” Grelle tutted, patting Ronald’s back as he choked the vile monstrosity down. Othello’s lip puckered in a sulky pout.

“Aw, Ronnnn. Grelle probably biased your perceptions. Try to keep an open mind!”

“Kinda hard to do when that stuff murdered my taste buds!” Ronald retorted, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth in disgust.

“My little man, licorice is de _plor_ able. All the geek talk in the world can’t change that,” Grelle concurred.

Othello gave a nonchalant shrug. “More for me, then.” He proceeded to pop three in his mouth at once, much to Grelle’s and Ronald’s mutual horror.

“Honey, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t force any more of that horrid stuff down your throat,” she reassured him.

“Thanks,” Ronald said, but the word involuntarily morphed into a yawn. _No_ …he desperately wanted to stay awake and bask in this attention…he was damn tired, though…

“You should probably get some sleep, love,” Othello suggested around his mouthful of licorice. Grelle nodded sagely.

“I had a feeling he’d be knackered.”

Ronald made only the feeblest protest when Grelle laid him down, and Othello dutifully tucked him under the covers.

“I’ll see to our ‘thello, Ronnie.” As she bent down to kiss his brow, she whispered, “And if you dream, dream of me.”

Ronald snuggled against the fluffy goosefeather pillow. He’d stay awake just a little longer…but maybe he’d close his eyes for a second…

* * *

A light headache pounding stubbornly against his temples dragged Ronald back into wakefulness. His penance for last night’s carousing. He must’ve stumbled back to his apartment…but he didn’t remember going home last night. _Was_ he at home? This mattress felt a hell of a lot more comfortable. He realized with a start that he was sandwiched between two other people, one of whom snored gently while wrapping their arms around his midriff like he was a teddy bear. Damn, he was sore. Ronald pried his gummy eyelids open, but was greeted with an indistinguishable blob of green and pasty white. Had someone taken off his glasses?

The blob moved closer. “Hey there,” a familiar voice greeted him.

“Othello!” A jumble of memories—Grelle’s painted mouth, Othello’s lingerie—hit him. That…had actually _happened_?!

“Here’s your eyes.” Ronald’s glasses were abruptly shoved onto his face, and the blurry figure coalesced into Othello’s face, which wore a cheeky grin.

“G’morning,” Ronald stuttered, the scientist’s fresh prettiness flustering him all over again.

“Mmmnn…Ron…nie?” Grelle’s arms tightened around him, and she nuzzled against his neck.

“Grelle,” he whispered, reaching behind him to stroke her impossibly soft hair.

“It’s time to get up, you sleepyheads!” the geek declared with far too much cheeriness for any hour before noon. “You gotta stop snoring eventually, Grelle.”

That roused her at once. “Ladies don’t _snore_!” she retorted hotly.

“My lady does,” Othello fired back.

“I _don’t_ snore! Tell him, _mon coeur_ ,” she pleaded, giving Ronald another kiss, this time on the cheek.

“Well, uh…” Ronald stammered, not sure if he should back up Othello or mollify his indignant _senpai_.

“Yes, Ronnie?” she cooed with a subtle note of danger in her voice.

“Uh…uh, I…c-couldn’t say!” he squeaked. They were on intimate terms now, but he probably shouldn’t risk the truth. Grelle was still Grelle. She had a fearsome temper when her pride was wounded.

Grelle gave a dainty sniff. “See, ‘thello? _Ronnie_ knows better, you brute.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Othello gave Ronald a conspiratorial wink. “I’m gonna go fix breakfast while you two lovebirds wake up. Omelets sound good?”

Ronald went slack-jawed. They were having breakfast together? He was much more accustomed to one-night stands, slipping away in the early morning hours to avoid the bleak reality of his partner’s loveless gaze.

“Oh, thank you, darling! That sounds _smashing_.” Grelle gushed.

Ronald just nodded, hoping Othello didn’t notice how his eyes had misted over (though the canny look Othello shot in his direction suggested he had).

“So I’m forgiven?” the geek smirked.

“For now…but don’t push your luck!” Grelle stuck out her tongue.

Othello hopped out of bed, threw on a frilly pink dressing gown, and skipped cheerfully to the kitchen.

“Don't get up just yet,” Grelle whispered. “Turn around, poppet. I want to see that beautiful face of yours.”

Ronald readily complied, smiling when Grelle cupped his cheek. He’d never looked at her up close like this without makeup (much of it had been smudged off during last night’s escapades). He hadn’t realized how many freckles she had.

Why the hell would she cover them up? It was like brushing the cinnamon off French toast. Golden constellations were scattered across the bridge of her nose, as if the heavens had adorned her with stardust.

A far less poetic “I…I really like your freckles,” tumbled from his mouth.

She turned a becoming shade of pink.

“You and Othello both. Really, I don’t understand you two. A woman’s complexion should be clear and pure…”

“But th-they’re so pretty,” he blurted out. Oh gods, she probably thought he was an idiot. Instead, Grelle turned an even rosier pink.

“Cunning flatterer.”

“Just speakin’ the truth.”

He struggled to wrap his mind around the notion that Grelle could be insecure about _anything_. She was perfect. Then again, you never knew what secrets people hid behind their glittering masks. Ronald was proof enough of that.

“Hush, you foolish boy.” The smile playing about her lips belied her stern tone.

“Are ya coming?!” Othello called from the kitchen.

“In a _minute_ , ‘thello!” Grelle hollered back. “There _is_ such a thing as being fashionably late,” she groused to Ronald, who snickered.

After the pair reluctantly rose from bed, Grelle yanked two red bathrobes out of the closet, tossing one to Ronald. Her scent clung to it, sweet and inviting. Grelle slipped her hand into his and tugged him along. “Come on, darling!”

She—

 _She was holding his hand_.

Ronald’s shock and delight nearly made him trip over his own feet. _Oh gods oh gods oh gods_ …

Othello was bustling about, finishing up breakfast.

“You’ve turned into a proper housewife,” Grelle giggled.

Othello gave her a saucy look over his shoulder. “Someone has to be, Miss Grelle. You’d starve otherwise.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that cooking’s so bloody hard. My omelets used to all get burnt when I lived alone.”

“Cooking’s just chemistry in the kitchen,” Othello shrugged. “Follow the right protocol, and you’re golden.”

“Easy for you to say! They never turn out right when _I_ try to make them.” Grelle sniffed, indignant as if the miscreant eggs had slighted her personally.

“Because you get too impatient, Grellybean. You can’t rush good science.”

They affectionately bickered back and forth, tossing the argument to each other like two cats batting a ball of soft yarn. The radiant daylight smoothed over their harsh edges. Dust motes danced and swirled around them where the sun’s rays shone, and Ronald was struck by the timelessness of the scene. They might be standing here twenty or a hundred years from now, returning to the same cozy domestic squabbles just like Ronald slipped on his favorite pair of shabby bedroom slippers each morning. Was there really room for one more?

Grelle and Ronald sat at the table, and Grelle reached into the pocket of her robe to fish out a hairbow covered in red-and-white polka dots. She always had a bow on hand to keep her bangs out of her face when eating at the canteen, but Ronald hadn’t realized she did the same thing at home. If she had been a glorious conqueror the night before, now she was a goddess of the hearth, and an adorable one, at that.

“Here you go, love.” Othello set a cheery yellow omelet in front of him, and the older reaper’s fingertips caressed the back of Ronald’s hand. The contact barely lasted a second, but it grounded Ronald in the reality of the moment. He was _here_ with the people he loved. Sharing a meal at the same table.

The scrumptious, gooey combination of cheese and egg melted in his mouth. Ronald blissfully closed his eyes. Then, they snapped open. Damn, it was Friday morning!

“Shit! Mr. Spears is gonna kill us! I—!”

“Now, don’t have a heart attack on me, my sweet Ronnie. I got it allll taken care of,” Grelle tittered.

Ronald gawped at her. “What d’you mean? He’ll have our necks if we don’t come into work!”

Grelle’s bare foot reached under the table to brush playfully over his. “I stopped by William’s office yesterday afternoon and told him we were using one of our free sick days to take some time off. Will was a _teensy_ bit annoyed, but he made me promise we’d do overtime next week. _Carpe diem_ , I say!”

Ronald shook his head in astonishment. Not many people would have the guts to make that kind of request from Mr. Spears. Grelle Sutcliff was a woman apart.

“I explained that I needed a _long_ weekend to woo my dashing _kouhai_ along with Othello.”

He choked on his eggs. “Grelle!!!” Ronald could imagine all too clearly the scornful disgust on William’s face when Grelle divulged every juicy detail of what she planned to do to him.

“You know me, darling. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Understatement of the century,” Othello chuckled, rolling his eyes. Ronald just groaned. Grelle had never been shy about airing her linen in public, regardless of how dirty it might be.

Grelle fluttered her lashes. “We have all sorts of ideas!”

“Do some of those involve fucking me within an inch of my life?” Ronald asked, half challenge, half query.

Othello and Grelle gave each other a Look.

“Maybe,” said Othello.

“Quite possibly,” purred Grelle.

A vile beast had stalked Ronald through his waking hours and riven his heart during his dreaming ones. The green-eyed monster had been slain at last. Two new ones sat before him to take its place, but Ronald knew that the prick of their claws would be dear as an embrace, the mark of their fangs more intimate than a kiss.


End file.
